For Just One Day
by harryandthegang
Summary: A series of one-shots about the Golden Trio before they get their Hogwarts letters. Everyone has a deep desire hidden in their hearts. Will Harry, Ron and Hermione ever get what they want?
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: This is a series of one-shots, like it says in the opener. It turned out to be really sad, but that was not my original intention! But I do think the three of them fulfill each others' deepest beliefs about friendship and family and they're happier together than apart. So here's a look at the Golden Trio before they were the Golden Trio! Ladies first.**

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Hermione's hand shot in the air.

With not a small amount of exasperation, the teacher sighed, "Yes, Miss Granger?"

"Sir, you've written the dates wrong." Several of the students around her tittered.

"I can assure you," said Mr. Beauchamp, "They are not wrong. They are from the textbook."

"Yeah, piss off, Granger!" yelled one of the boys. Hermione wasn't sure which one. She could feel her face turning a brilliant shade of crimson and lowered her eyes and her voice, but continued anyway. He had the dates wrong.

"No sir," said Hermione, "Look. You've mixed up the War of Succession with the Battle of Crecy."

Mr. Beauchamp finally looked at the board. Hermione chanced a glance up. She could feel the entire classroom staring at her and her face continued to become more red. She wanted to shrivel up and fall through the slats in the seat. Why had she opened her mouth? Imagining what would happen in the schoolyard when they left for break, Hermione was practically stewing in her own misery. All of a sudden, no one was looking at her. Mr. Beauchamp, though he had not said a word, was erasing the dates and writing the correct ones.

"Right, thank you, Miss Granger. Moving on." And they did. Even the boy who had helpfully yelled at her to piss off was bent studiously to his work.

Hermione was never sure what was happening when things of this nature occurred. They seemed to be happening more frequently. Maybe she was going mad, as Evelyn Tate and Rebecca Vance had suggested.

 _No_ , she thought, _I'm not going mad. My classmates must be feeling more accepting after what happened to that sixth year boy._

Just last month a boy in the sixth year had tried to commit suicide by hanging himself in the closet. His parents had found him in time, thank God. It was due to bullying. He was still in the hospital and they had to bring him his schoolwork. Hermione could not repress a shudder, as misguided as she knew it was, at the thought of missing so much important school, but that was far beside the point.

Still, just last week she had been desperately hoping for one of the girls at the popular table to notice her. She just wanted one of them to come over and say hello, maybe ask about her new haircut which she thought made her look less like a walking, talking triangle. Hermione had been hoping for one of the girls to notice her haircut so single-mindedly that she must have done something without realizing it. She must have! One's hair did not stand on end on its own and her own hair had done just that, like it was reaching for the sky the way they had to do with their arms in physical training. But suddenly it was standing on end. She must have done something unintentionally to make it do so, but she could not figure out what.

The end result was, of course, the popular girls _had_ noticed her. _Everyone_ had noticed her. Even some of the teachers had joined in the laughter and that had really hurt. But not as much as Evelyn Tate throwing different foods into her staticky hair, trying to see what would stick while Hermione had run from the cafeteria crying.

And the year before, when she had been begging her mother to do correspondence classes. But her father must have sent for the paperwork, as much as he denied it. Hermione knew beyond a doubt her mother had not, for she had practically fallen over when she had seen the packet to enroll her in a correspondence school after they had argued about that very thing the night before.

No. They hadn't appeared out of thin air, but, again, Hermione had no idea where they had come from. She knew Mother had suspicions.

Her parents had long treated these odd happenings as they treated everything. With unassailable and indefatigable logic. And that was precisely what Hermione intended to do.

Later, as she had predicted, Evelyn and Rebecca came across the yard toward her. Beatrice was with them. She and Hermione had spent time together over the summer holiday, but once school started that friendship had evaporated. Hermione had not been surprised, but she had spent a lot of time crying about it while her mother stroked her hair. She tried to put that thought aside as they came. Those girls could smell weakness and thinking of her mother and Beatrice's betrayal would not help her with what was to come.

"So. Hermione," said Evelyn.

Hermione continued looking at the toes of her unremarkable school shoes. "Yes Evelyn?" she said, hoping whatever this was was quick and not too public, though she saw some of her classmates looking their way interestedly.

"That was well interesting today. How you knew the dates even though Mr. Beauchamp didn't."

Hermione looked up sharply. Evelyn had never told Hermione that anything she had done had been "well interesting".

Then Rebecca joined in with a painfully accurate imitation of Mr. Beauchamp's clipped, city accent, "I think not, Miss Granger." Evelyn and Beatrice laughed appreciatively while Rebecca went on to say all sorts rude things that Mr. Beauchamp would have rather been caught picking his nose than saying in front of students.

"So." Evelyn again. "I was finking you could come over for my party on Saturday?"

It was a question even though it was a statement, but that was not what had Hermione confused.

"P-party?" she felt herself blushing at the same time as she tried to keep her cool.

"Yeah, you know," said Rebecca, "A bunch of humans get together and like, hang out. You ever done it?"

Evelyn elbowed Rebecca, hard, in the ribs.

"So like, try and be nice?" said Evelyn.

Rebecca just rolled her eyes, but smiled at Hermione when she was done.

"Sure. I could come to your party." Why couldn't she think of something cooler to say?

"So. It's at mine. You know where I live?"

Hermione nodded. She had gone there once with Mother to pick up a costume for the school play. Mother didn't sew, but Evelyn's mother did.

"All right. Well. Don't want to keep ya."

And with that the three girls walked away. Beatrice looked back, but instead of looking excited, she looked worried. Hermione supposed she was afraid Hermione would embarrass her by bringing up their summer friendship, but Hermione never would. All she wanted was to have a good time at the party. She couldn't wait to tell her parents!

Her parents had been thrilled with the news.

Mr. and Mrs. Granger had watched their daughter very intently. It was such a joy to them to finally see her happy and getting along with the other kids.

After checking that she was really asleep, Mrs. Granger had come down to sit with Mr. Granger in the living room. He had poured them two glasses of wine and she gratefully took a sip. She snuggled in beside him and he threw a blanket over the two of them.

"Do you think she'll have a good time at the party? Could this be it?" she asked. She didn't want to look Mr. Granger in the face. She was afraid her own worries and insecurities would be reflected too plainly.

"I don't know. I hope so."

Hermione didn't see much of the other girls for the rest of the week. She thought maybe they'd sit at lunch together but their table was full and Hermione was afraid of being turned away if she asked them to make room. They didn't make fun of her though, and Beatrice even passed her a note in class complaining about their teacher's B.O. She figured they had invited her to the party out of curiosity. She was determined to show them how much fun she could be.

It was supposed to be a pajama party. She and her mother spent the whole day at the mall looking at different silly pajamas and finally settling on a set of pajamas with little mugs of tea and biscuits all over them.

When her mother dropped her off at Evelyn's house she asked if Hermione wanted her to come in with her.

Hermione had laughed. "Of course not!"

"Are you excited?" Mother asked.

Hermione blushed. Her mother was only asking because she knew she didn't have any friends. It was embarrassing.

"I s'pose. It will be fun to have a girl's night," she said decidedly, and gave her mother a bright grin.

"Yes. It will. Well have fun. If you need anything just call. I'll drop it off with Mrs. Tate so I don't disturb you girls."

"Thanks, Mother," she said and leaned over to give her a kiss on the cheek before getting out. She was feeling a little giddy and light-headed. She wished she had not worn her pajamas to the party, whatever Evelyn had said about it being a pajama party.

When Mrs. Tate opened the door Hermione's worst fears were confirmed. No one else was in pajamas. Even Mrs. Tate looked rather aghast at Hermione's attire.

"So," said Evelyn, approaching with a cat-like grin on her face. "You found us? All right. Come on, we were going to go watch a movie. What are you wearing those for?" She indicated the pajamas but completely ignored Hermione's mumbled excuses. "Whatever. Guess you're comfy, eh?"

They all trooped up to Evelyn's room. Soon, Hermione forgot her discomfort. They watched movies where big-breasted women fell off tall ladders and were caught by unrealistically muscular men. At first, Hermione could not engage, but the other girls said such funny things between the lines (it was clear they'd seen these movies a hundred times) that she was soon laughing and making jokes with the rest of them.

Around ten o'clock, Evelyn left the room. Hermione barely noticed she was gone she was having such a great time. She hoped it would last all night. When Evelyn came back she had a very different face on. A calculating face.

"So. My parents are finally asleep," she said. The other girls all sat up and their faces became just as expectant and calculating as Evelyn's.

"Hermione," said Evelyn, sitting on the bed across from her. "We were going to sneak out and go to Charing Cross tonight. You want to?"

Hermione willed herself not to blush. She thought of her parents. But surely her parents wouldn't want her to do anything embarrassing? She thought they would give her some leeway if – well, when, really – they got caught if they knew she was breaking the rules with friends.

She nodded. The other girls cheered and the tight feeling of guilt eased a little.

"So. I'm going to call the boys!"

Hermione's heart plummeted. Boys? She looked around at the other girls to see how they felt about this, but apparently it had all been anticipated.

"I'm not really dressed for Charing Cross," she stated. She had half a mind to call her mother and go home. She didn't like this feeling.

"So like, change?" said Evelyn, already dialing numbers into her sparkly handset.

Beatrice got up and walked over to Evelyn's wardrobe. She began selecting a few items of clothing.

Hermione couldn't hear what Evelyn was saying to the boys. The other girls were being too loud. She wondered wildly which boys from their class, though she thought she could guess. It would only make sense if it was Carter and Ian and possibly Mark, since they all hung around with Evelyn, Beatrice and Rebecca. She didn't know if the other girls had these pseudo-boyfriend/girlfriend relationships or not.

Beatrice came up to Hermione. She smiled shyly as she handed her a tanktop and blue jeans. She stood up and went to the toilet.

She heard Evelyn say, "So Beatrice, did you give her my Tommy Hilfiger tanktop? Well that won't do. Hermione!"

Hermione stuck her head back in Evelyn's room. It was a wonder that Evelyn's parents were still sleeping really. No one had got any quieter since Evelyn had announced they were in bed.

"Here, give me those. I'll get you something better. Go on, go get out of those pajamas, I'll bring something right down."

Hermione smiled and ran downstairs to the loo. She was so glad the boys wouldn't see her in that silly pajama set!

She waited in the bathroom for a minute, trying to make her hair look nice. She heard a knock on the door and the sound of young male voices. Lots of young male voices. What, did Evelyn's parents take sleeping pills or something?

There was a knock on the door.

"So. You have the pajamas off?"

Hermione tried to open the door, but Evelyn pulled it closed.

"There's like, boys here, Hermione! Just hand me the pajamas and I'll hand you the clothes!"

Hermione blushed. "Right!" she said and took off her pajamas. She was just in knickers now.

The bathroom door opened again. Hermione stuck out a hand for the clothes and Evelyn's hand wrapped around her wrist. Before she could grasp what was happening, Evelyn had opened the door all the way and yanked Hermione out of the bathroom.

Before her, almost her entire class was standing in the hall, looking at her in her pants. The shock was too great. She could barely even see anyone; her eyes had clouded over.

Then a deep shame washed over her. She moaned with terrific embarrassment. The boys began to laugh and the girls joined in. Several of the girls were pointing at her white cotton knickers. They had a little bow on the front and apparently this was just hilarious.

Hurt, anger, betrayal, and sheer humiliation all tumbled through her. She knew she shouldn't, but she began to cry. She tried to cover herself but it was useless. Why couldn't she just disappear!  
And suddenly, it was as if she had. No one was looking at her. They were all talking to each other, but no one was looking at her.

Hermione made a dash for the door. The cold night air rushed against her skin; it erupted in goosebumps. She ran. She didn't know where she ran. In the back of her mind, she knew it was a bad idea for a ten year old girl to be running naked down the street on a Saturday night. She knew she needed to get to a payphone. The actual thinking was happening far away. All she could see was the evil glee that had lit up the faces of her classmates as she had been shoved forward for everyone to see.

She ran into someone. It was a man. Real fear began to blossom in her chest.

"Dear me," said the man. He was quite old and had a rather startling appearance. His hair was as long as his beard and both could have been tucked into his belt, which, Hermione saw, they were.

"I'm afraid this won't do," said the man. He produced a brilliant bathrobe of red and purple silk from a bag Hermione had not seen at first. He wrapped her in the robe.

"Do you see there?" he asked and pointed across the street. "That's a payphone. Have you any money?"

Hermione shook her head. Her whole body was shaking. Why was he being so nice?

"Here. Take it. Call your parents. I shall accompany you, and wait until they arrive."

Hermione ran across the street without another word. The man followed swiftly behind her. Should she run to a cafe? She probably shouldn't stay on a dark street with a strange man, whether he had given her clothing or not.

She pushed a coin into the slot and dialed her home number quite frantically. She hoped her parents had not gone out!

The phone rang three times before her mother's voice, sounding quite panicky, answered.

"Hermione?" she asked.

"Yes. Mother, please come pick me up." She looked around for a street name and gave it to her mother. "I'm outside the Centaurus Cafe."

"I'll be right there, darling."

Hermione looked up at the man, gratefully. He was standing with his hands clasped before him, looking quite at ease. Rather like he was waiting for the bus. He smiled at her benignly, and then looked straight ahead again. Hermione didn't know if it was the way his eyes had twinkled behind his half moon glasses, or the myriad other kindnesses he had done, but she decided she could trust him and waited at the payphone with him for her mother.

When she saw her mother's car she ran forward. As she put her hand on the door handle, she turned back to thank the man but he was gone. She looked down the street for him but couldn't find him.

"Hermione, what are you wearing?" Mother asked.

Later, once the shock had worn off, Hermione began to cry. She would have to return to school on Monday. She didn't think she could bear it.

Mother held her as she sobbed long into the night.

For just one day, Hermione wanted to have real friends.

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 **Please review!  
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	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: Thank you so much for the reviews! I apologize for the long wait between chapters. This is Ron's chapter. I've tried to stay true to character, but if you notice anything off let me know! The Weasleys are a great favorite of mine, so this was a fun one to write.  
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Ron, Fred and George were all out in the orchard, taking turns flying on Charlie and Bill's broomsticks. They were all determined to learn how to barrel roll, much to their mother's despair. Every time she caught them at it the yelling was so loud even the garden gnomes would run to their hidey-holes, covering their little ears.

Charlie would have shown them how but he had got a summer internship in the south of France, helping bring in large and dangerous magical creatures before Muggles caught sight of them – or the creatures caught sight of Muggles. The internship was not helping Mum's stress levels.

Fred and George launched themselves into the air, matching expressions of manic glee on their faces. Fred tried to turn in midair first, but the broom corrected itself too quickly, and he merely wobbled. George did slightly better, but only because Bill's broom was so old the charms were wearing off, so it did not correct itself, but merely let George hang upside down until, red-faced and swearing, he was able to clamber back up.

Ron was laughing at the look of terror on George's face as he righted himself.

"Right-o, Ronald," said Fred, whipping the broom around to look at his younger brother. "You ready?"

Ron gulped. He nodded.

Fred drew in for a landing and hopped off while still three feet from the ground, landing on his feet and looking quite solid, a mere foot in front of him.

"Here we are then," he said and handed Ron the broom.

Ron felt a prickly feeling in his chest and a swooping sensation in his stomach as he rose in the air. He achieved a respectable height, not wanting to look like he was scared. Just high enough that Fred and George wouldn't call him a baby. George stopped practicing and hung in midair watching his brother.

Ron leaned over to the side, hard, like he was trying to flip off. The broom twisted over and it appeared Ron would do it. He could feel a glowing pride in his chest – until the broom shook and dropped four feet in the air, scaring Ron so badly he let go and fell straight on his head.

"Ronald Weasley!" came Mum's sharp voice. "Get in the house this instant! Fred! George! Put these brooms away! None of you – _none of you!_ \- are to even touch a broom for a month! NO! I will not be argued with now."

Mum put an arm around Ron's shoulders and heaved him up. She was still yelling, now she was yelling in his ear and it was starting to ring, but she was also running her fingers through his hair, searching for cuts and squeezing him tight against her. She was shaking slightly, belying the fact that she had been truly afraid.

Once inside she waved her wand and both the dizziness and the ringing in his ears disappeared.

"Mum," said Fred, just walking in, "You're not really going to ban us from our brooms are you? I mean, it's not our fault Ron can't stay on."

Mum fixed a beady eye on Fred, who backed up into George, who backed up into the china cabinet, rattling the good china. The expression on Mum's face could not have been more frightening if actual flames had burst out of her head. The twins fled to the safety of their room. Ron and Molly listened to the thunder of their feet on the stairs before Mum fixed him in her stare one more time.

"I want you boys to be safe. I love you so much, Ronnie. C'mere." She opened her arms and Ron hugged her tight. "Good boy. Now go clean your room it's frightful."

Ron went upstairs to his attic bedroom. He put a few things on shelves and then spent the rest of the afternoon trying to whistle. Fred and George could whistle any song they heard and even Percy could make birds call back to him, but Ron had somehow not got the hang of it. Ginny hadn't either, but this was no comfort. What if she learned before he did?

Deciding his room looked as though he had tried, Ron went for a walk, still practicing his whistle.

After the summer he would go to Hogwarts. Fred and George had just finished their first year there and it sounded amazing. Percy had said it was, but Percy had nearly peed his pants with excitement over the rolls of personalized parchment he had received yesterday. He had also gone on at length about lessons until George had thrown a dinner roll at him and Percy had started in on that. No, Ron much preferred Fred and George's version, but he was nervous about how they placed students – how was he supposed to memorize the entire Transfiguration textbook in one night?

Suddenly, a sharp sound issued from his mouth. He had whistled! Ron stopped in his tracks. Concentrating, making sure his mouth was still in the exact shape it had been before, he whistled again. And it happened again! He tried changing the pitch. He whistled a little tune! He had done it!

He raced back to the house, darting through the chickens who were all squawking over the corn Bill was throwing to them.

"Mum!" Ron yelled, falling through the back door into the kitchen. Dad was there, reading a paper and eating an apple. He looked up at his youngest son, smiling at his excitement. Mum, on the other hand, turned from her cooking with a nervous expression as though Ron were about to tell her there was a banshee outside wanting words with her.

"I whistled! Listen!" He whistled Mum's favorite tune.

Mum smiled warmly, the nervous expression melting away. "Oh Ron, that's wonderful! Listen to that Arthur! You and your brothers should do harmonies!"

Ron stopped whistling and rolled his eyes, but still felt quite pleased.

"Remember when Bill learned to whistle, Arthur?" Mum asked, turning back to her cooking. Ron felt his heart sink a little.

Dad smiled, remembering. "You kept checking the teapot," he chuckled.

Ron walked out of the kitchen, his parents' reminiscences floating into the hallway after him.

Ginny, who was finishing up her homeschooling, was sitting on the steps, laboring over a maths exam.

Ron sat beside her. "No, you've got to make sure you're carrying your numbers," said Ron, pointing at her mistake. Ginny leaned in, her little snub nose practically touching the parchment. She clearly had no idea what he was on about, so Ron explained.

He saw it in her face when she finally understood and he stayed to make sure she got the next few questions correct.

"Thank you, Ron!" She beamed at him. He smiled and pushed her head, running up the stairs to his room again.

At dinner, Molly asked Ginny if she had finished her exam.

"I'd like to turn it in tomorrow morning, Ginny," she said, sounding rather aggrieved.

"Ron helped me! I think I finally got it!"

"Thank you, Ronald!" Mum said, smiling. Arthur patted Ron on the back and George began to pat him too. Then George was whacking him hard on the back as though trying to dislodge a blockage from Ron's throat. Fred did one better, leaping over the table and raising two hands over his head, clearly planning on bringing both fisted hands into Ron's back, but Ron dodged in time so that Fred hit his dinner plate instead and spattered himself with mash and corn.

Bill laughed uproariously, Percy just roared, wiping his glasses on his shirt and Ginny began to cry. Mum, of course was yelling and it was several minutes before everyone was calm again and Fred had been threatened with everything from doing the washing up alone to sleeping in the chicken coop.

Once everyone was sitting again, Mum turned to Dad and said, "Remember how good Percy was with numbers at Ron's age? He was on coursework much more advanced than anything I understood."

Ron rolled his eyes, but this time it didn't sting as much. It was rather a burn for Ginny as well. Ginny snickered at Percy, who had only succeeded in smearing mash all over his glasses and was cursing under his breath so Mum wouldn't hear.

The summer was passing pleasantly. Whenever Ron, Fred and George thought Mum busy enough they would practice barrel rolls in the orchard. None of them were making any progress but every night at bedtime found the three of them separately dreaming of making the Quidditch team.

Ginny finally finished her schoolwork. She ran all around the Burrow, trying desperately to keep up with Ron, Fred and George. To an outside observer, it would look as though Ginny were following Ron and Ron were following Fred and George.

One day, Fred and George were building a bomb in the backyard. They had finally availed themselves of the local library and found something that didn't require a wand to make a loud explosion. Ron was helping them by fetching and touching things that untrained human hands should not touch.

The bomb was just about ready when Ron accidentally broke the detonator.

"Ron, you prat!" George yelled. "We'll have to go back into town now!"

Ron could feel himself filling with shame. Why couldn't he do anything right?

"Just go Ron! No one wants you here!" yelled Fred, his face looking mutinous and angry.

This made Ron stand his ground. "George wants me here! I'm helping! Just because you don't know how to -"

But he was cut off by Fred.

"No! You're the one that no one wants! Don't you get it? Don't you get why George and I are always trying to get away from you! You shouldn't even be here!"

Ron took a swing at Fred. Fred clocked him square in the jaw.

"Fred!" George was in the mix now, trying to grab his twin, trying to draw him back. "It's fine! We'll just go to town! We'll get a new detonator! Who cares about this twat?"

"No! Mum never wanted him! She wanted a girl! And she got Ronniekins. Well. There you go. There you go, Ron, you're here. And what do you do? You make a total prat out of yourself. Shove off!"

Ron felt tears prickling in his eyes. His face was burning. His ears felt like they were on fire.

He ran away.

He could hear George trying to calm Fred down, but continued to run.

Ron reached the closed in orchard. He hadn't realized he where he was going till he got there. He unlocked the shed and grabbed a broom, determined to show his brothers that he was more than a spare son.

He practiced the barrel roll all afternoon and well into the evening. He wasn't getting it. The sun sank below the horizon and still Ron could be found amongst the moths and the night-blooming flowers, trying to throw his broom all the way around.

In one dizzying motion, after five hours of practice, Ron threw the broom all the way around. When he righted himself, on top of the broom and slightly dizzy, he let out a great whoop of success. Yes! He couldn't wait to tell Fred and George! No. Not those twats. He'd tell Mum first.

Mum. She was probably making dinner right now.

Running the broom back to the shed, his heart fit to burst with pride, Ron thought about how he'd tell Mum. He thought of how angry she would be that he had continued to practice barrel rolling after she had expressly forbidden it. Maybe Dad would be the person to tell first.

He ran through the back door.

Mum was cooking dinner and Dad was sitting at the kitchen table. Dad was just finishing up some boring story about the Ministry. Mum looked concerned.

Ron sat at the table. Dad pushed him a bowl of peanuts that he had been snacking on.

"I did a barrel roll in the orchard," he announced.

Dad looked very proud. His eyebrows drew up and he smiled broadly, transforming his thin face into something quite handsome. He patted Ron on the shoulder.

"Way to go Ron! Now that you and Fred and George can do it, I reckon the Gryffindor team ought to just be Weasleys!"

Mum pursed her lips in displeasure just as Ron had pictured it. What Ron had not pictured was his stomach sinking in utter dismay.

"When did Fred and George do a barrel roll?"

Apparently, Dad did not notice how hollow Ron's voice was.

"Sometime this morning. They told me about it when I came home from work."

Ron got up.

"Where are you going? Dinner's almost ready," said Mum, still stirring at the stove.

"Just to my room. I want to wash my hands first, I'm well dirty."

Ron stumped up the stairs to his room. He could feel the beginnings of tears again and tried taking deep breaths to make them go away.

He was glad at his restraining when the door to Fred and George's room opened.

"Ron." It was Fred. "I'm sorry, mate. It's not even your fault about the detonator. I was just mad." He put his arm around Ron. "You know, George and I are the spares, right? I mean, Mum had already had three boys. What, you think she was trying for five? I mean, look at the state of her most days. It's nothing to do with you. I was just worked up about the bomb. We'll go into town tomorrow and get another, hey?"

Ron nodded. "Thanks, Fred."

Fred disappeared back into the room, and Ron continued up to his own attic bedroom. He sat in the window, looking out at their yard.

He didn't feel like crying anymore. Fred's apology had done its job. He did still feel like crap though. Would he ever do anything first in this family?

For just one day, he wanted to feel special.

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 **Let me know what you think!  
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	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: I apologize for the long wait! The muse was really not with me on this one and it's the shortest one! I have one more chapter - a wrap-up chapter, and that will make up for this one. Also, Harry is a lot younger than Hermione and Ron but I felt this would have been right around the time he stopped longing for the Dursleys' affection and I wanted to catch him at a time that was still important.** **Thanks for reading!**

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Harry Potter jumped out of bed. It was a sunny summer day. He was eight today! Ever since he and Dudley had been let out of school, Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon had been talking about a special trip. Harry just knew the trip would be for his birthday! Maybe they would go to Spain! Harry and Dudley had been learning about Spain before school let out. There was loads of cool stuff!

Warm beaches with hot sand, everyone speaking a foreign language and running with the bulls! Maybe they could see a real bull fight!

Harry got dressed at top speed. He stopped in front of the hall mirror. His hair was sticking up in all different directions like a naughty porcupine. Harry went to the bathroom and ran some water over a comb. Aunt Petunia didn't like it so much that his hair never lay flat like Dudley's. All Aunt Petunia had to do with Dudley's hair was pull the comb through it once and it sat on his giant fat head, flat and calm. No matter how many times Harry combed and watered his hair it just sprang up behind the comb as prickly as ever.

Maybe today Aunt Petunia would see he had tried.

When he reentered the hallway he saw his stupid cousin waddling down the stairs. It was too bad he would have to come to Spain too.

Harry thought of other places they could go. Maybe they couldn't go as far as Spain. Aunt Petunia pointed to a pan of eggs she had just cracked onto the griddle. Harry pulled a stool to the stove and watched until they needed flipping. Scotland was cool too! They might see a Highlander and hear some bagpipes! Or Ireland! They could see the Giant's Causeway!

Harry flipped the eggs and Uncle Vernon came into the kitchen. He didn't say anything about Harry's hair. It must be okay today! He also didn't say happy birthday, but Uncle Vernon wasn't one for noticing these things so Harry decided not to be upset about it.

Aunt Petunia finished with the bacon and allowed Harry to sit at the table with Dudley and Uncle Vernon.

"Petunia," said Uncle Vernon, "Have you talked to the travel agent about that trip?" He peered over his newspaper at Harry and Dudley and then disappeared behind it again. "You know, the special trip?"

"Yes, dear," said Aunt Petunia, now ladling eggs and bacon onto plates for everyone. "We're all set to go this afternoon!"

"Excellent."

No more was said while everyone tucked in, but Harry could feel his insides on fire. They must be going somewhere really great if Uncle Vernon wanted to keep it a surprise from Dudley. He didn't expect they would buy Harry any souvenirs but maybe if he behaved himself and Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon were in a good mood, he would ask if they could buy him a postcard for him to hang on the wall.

"You boy," said Uncle Vernon as Harry rose from the table. He immediately sank back to his chair.

"Yes, Uncle Vernon?"

"Be sure you're packed. We'll be away for at least a week."

"Will it be sunny there?" Harry couldn't keep from asking.

"Summer now. Sunny everywhere, isn't it? Go pack and stop asking questions."

Harry barely suppressed an eye roll and only managed as he thought of all the cool things he would see. He had a little pocket money. Maybe he had enough to buy a disposable camera! He took his plate to the sink and then left the kitchen to run to the cupboard under the stairs to throw everything he owned into a duffel bag.

It wasn't much! There were a few trousers Dudley had outgrown and a couple of jumpers. He only had short-sleeved undershirts so hopefully they weren't going anywhere too smart. He packed one of the jumpers just in case.

Knowing Uncle Vernon and Dudley liked to take their time over their food, Harry dashed back to the kitchen, bag in hand. He was so happy he felt like he was walking on air!

When he reached the kitchen Dudley shrieked. Aunt Petunia turned around so fast the water in the pan she was holding sloshed out and doused Uncle Vernon right where he sat.

Uncle Vernon spluttered and looked up at Harry and immediately turned purple.

Dripping, steaming, and tugging at his mustache like it was a lifeline, Uncle Vernon bellowed, "Get out of the kitchen boy!"

Harry looked around, as though expecting Uncle Vernon to be yelling at another boy, but it was just him. He turned around and went back to the cupboard under the stairs, tears falling thick and fast. He didn't realize that he hadn't just _felt_ like he was walking on air. He had been walking several inches above the ground.

Not long after that Harry heard Aunt Petunia's hurried footsteps. The lock clicked, predictably.

Harry threw himself miserably on the little cot. He stared up at the spiders making webs.

"We'll come get you when it's time to go."

Harry almost asked why he had to be in here at all but remembered he wasn't supposed to ask questions. At least they were still taking him on the trip.

Harry spent the rest of the morning trying to stem the flow of tears. He tried to think of all the reasons he should be angry. He even tried to make the sight of Uncle Vernon, covered in soapy dishwater and tugging on his mustache, funny, but he supposed it was the kind of thing that would only be funny later.

Finally, around two in the afternoon according to his watch, the cupboard door opened again.

"Well, come on," said Aunt Petunia sharply, as though it were perfectly natural to lock your nephew in where most people kept their hoovers.

Harry merely grabbed his duffel bag and followed the Dursleys out to the car. He was so excited he could hardly keep himself from bouncing up and down in the backseat.

"Where are we going?" he finally asked.

Uncle Vernon turned around so fast he cricked his neck. " _WE_?" He bellowed. Then he laughed. And Harry felt a horrible sinking sensation. Aunt Petunia began to titter stupidly and Dudley guffawed, sounding the way a baboon must sound when it hears a good joke.

"We!" Uncle Vernon cried again, pounding the steering wheel in his mirth. "Did you hear that, Petunia?" Aunt Petunia was now giggling so hysterically she could not answer, merely waving the handkerchief she was using to wipe the tears from her eyes before they ruined her makeup. Dudley shouted, "I heard him too, Dad!"

"We – your aunt, and cousin and I – are going to Majorca. _You -"_ he turned around again - "are going to be as far away from us as possible."

This time Harry did not cry. This time, Harry got very, very angry. He got so angry he felt like he might explode.

The car suddenly spun sideways. Harry grabbed onto the door handle and Dudley swung into him. Harry felt like he had been hit by a boulder. He'd lost his breath and was wheezing. The car had finally settled on the sidewalk.

" _What in the blazes_!" Uncle Vernon roared, jumping out of the car. The back tire, the one closest to Harry, had exploded. Harry derived a lot of satisfaction from watching Uncle Vernon maneuvering the car back on to the road and putting the spare on while Aunt Petunia shrieked they were going to be late and miss the flight and helpful passersby were gruffly brushed off. Dudley was playing on his Gameboy, oblivious.

Finally the spare was on and Uncle Vernon, after glowering at Harry as though it were his fault, got back in and drove off.

He pulled up in front of Mrs. Figg's house. It was horrible in there. It wasn't that Harry didn't like cats, but he felt there should be a law about one person having _so many_. He supposed it would be nice to spend some time in the company of someone who actually wanted to talk to him.

Harry watched the Dursleys drive away and then was led into the house by Mrs. Figg. She had some cake for him. It was quite stale. They had a fry up for dinner and watched the news, while Mrs. Figg fell asleep in her armchair.

Harry grabbed some sheets from the linen closet and made himself as comfortable as a person could be on the lumpy, bumpy couch. There were no spiders on the ceiling to watch here, so Harry looked out the window instead, watching the stars come out. He felt the tears on his face but did not wipe them away. There was no one here to see.

He did not want to admit it to himself but Harry knew deep inside that his greatest desire was to be part of a family. Just for one day.


End file.
